Page 22 of Better Than Baby (Better Than Stories #9)

I navigated the endless antiseptically sterile corridors and elevators with more bounce in my step. Not so harried, not so panicked. Sure, there was a lot to do, but a little caffeine went a long way.

And we were here, ready for anything.

“…doctor is on the way.” A nurse hurried by me, speed-walking in the general direction of Lena’s room. “She’s at ten and ready to push. It escalated quickly…”

Wait up.

Was that…

I picked up my pace, sloshing coffee onto the biodegradable tray in my hands.

I rushed into the room, fear prickling my skin at the sight of Lena’s face drenched in sweat, clutching Aaron’s arm in a viselike grip as she whimpered in agony.

A nurse took the coffees and made a quip about not getting her order, but my sense of humor had gone on hiatus.

“What happened?” I unzipped my jacket in a hurry, all elbows and jerky movement.

Aaron met my gaze and offered a strained half smile. “She’s at ten centimeters, and the contractions are coming faster. The nurse says it just happens quickly sometimes. Nothing for a while and then boom , the baby is ready. The doctor is coming…soon, I hope.”

“Okay, good. Uh…what can I do?”

“Ice chips.” Kathy passed me a cup of ice. “A child is entering the world. The chakra must be honored. I want to arrange my crystals and…have a sip of my latte.”

Uh…what?

Lena’s face contorted in pain. She sat forward, white-knuckling it through another contraction. I imagined ice chips were the last thing on her mind. I left the cup on the nearest flat surface and held out my hand.

“Take mine too, Lena. Remember your breathing,” I reminded her.

More whimpering. “It…it hurts. Why did I think I could do this naturally? I can’t. It’s too hard.”

Tears cascaded along Lena’s cheeks, and her lips trembled in an effort not to sob.

Aaron massaged her neck and sang something in Spanish. He was good at comfort, I mused, wincing as Lena dug claws into my forearms, keening as a fresh bout of pain engulfed her.

“Heehee-who-who, hee-hee-who-who. C’mon, Lena, breathe with me,” I urged.

Aaron beamed. “You’re so amazing. So brave, mija .”

Twenty minutes later, Dr. Gwinn finally made an appearance, greeting the room with the kind of casual hello I associated with bumping into old friends at a restaurant. This was life or death, do or die, for fuck’s sake. We didn’t do hellos now.

“She’s in a lot of pain. Can you do something for her?” I asked, my tone sharper than necessary.

“Yes, I can help her give birth to your baby. How does that sound?” Dr. Gwinn pulled on a pair of gloves, arranged a mask over her face, and got to work.

She coaxed Lena to the edge of the bed, spread her legs wide, and examined her cervix.

For the record, the fact that words like cervix didn’t squib me out was proof I was in the zone, ready to assist in whatever capacity was needed.

However, two new nurses came in to assist and gently shooed me aside.

I took the hint and hovered nearby, listening for clues amid the medical speak as I licked my lips nervously. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything is wonderful. Come here, Daddy. The baby is crowning and he or she has a fabulous head of hair,” the doctor gushed.

“Go on, Daddies. I’m here for Lena, and the chakra is set,” Kathy declared theatrically, motioning for us to join the doctor.

We obeyed. And…

Holy shit.

A head of thick, dark hair was clearly visible. Aaron was murmuring in Spanish, something like a prayer, maybe. I wrapped an arm around him as if that might anchor us in the midst of this completely and utterly awe-inspiring moment.

“Push, Lena,” Dr. Gwinn instructed. “That’s it. Now stop. I’m going to make sure we don’t get tangled in the cord…and here we go. All right, give me another push.”

The baby’s head eased through the channel, the doctor suctioned fluids, and barked another order to push. Lena keened, her face damp with sweat. Aaron clutched at my shirt on an inhale just as a soft cry broke the expectant air. And…there she was.

Our daughter.

A beautiful, pink, squawking wonder. Ten fingers, ten toes, kicking and flailing as the doctor held her up and handed her to a nearby nurse.

Aaron burrowed into my chest with a sob. “Oh, my God, Matty…she’s perfect. Chiquita bonita, mi amor .”

“She is.”

“Congratulations, Dads. Who’s going to cut the cord?” Dr. Gwinn asked.

“I…uh…we both will,” I stammered, stepping toward the infant lying on a bed of what looked like towels.

One nurse wiped the afterbirth from her skin and another clamped the umbilical cord and passed me a pair of sterile scissors. Aaron covered my hand, and together we severed the connection between Lena and our baby.

The nurse swaddled her loosely in a soft receiving blanket and pushed her into my arms.

Me.

My arms.

I swallowed hard, heart hammering helplessly in my chest as I stared at the raven-haired beauty in my arms. She had Aaron’s hair and his beautiful skin, and she had his lungs.

I rocked gently and rubbed a pinky finger along her tiny fist. She opened her palm and gripped it, her cries receding as she gazed up at me.

I heard someone praise her strength and I smiled.

“Hi, there,” I whispered. “Welcome, sweet girl. It’s me…Daddy.”